Eulogy For Evolution
by Xyliette
Summary: For winter machine, forever ago. A rewrite of Season 5 in three parts, plus some Derek, and a whole lot of flashbacks.
1. variations of static

A/N: Hello, world! This is a long time coming for **winter_machine**, like about a year (maybe longer at this point) late (and you've already seen most of the first part, sorry!). Thanks to **freiheitfuehlen**, for the beta, I've added and rearranged a little so if you can spot the split infinitive then that's on me. I'm not even sure who is around these parts any longer, so if you read and hate or love or find yourself ambivalent, give a gal a shout. I write for myself, always, but it's always nice to hear from peeps.

This was started post-Bizzy and then kind of spiraled into me needing to alter how this season has shaped up, so we start at the beginning. I believe the prompt may be hidden in here somewhere, I took it for a ride. Thinking two parts for this but we all know I will get long-winded while trying to write the last few pages I have left and make it an odd three parts. Chapter and story titles all belong to the wonderful Ólafur Arnalds. Enjoy, enjoy-

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
Eulogy For Evolution  
- Ólafur Arnalds  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

_The teacher is extra nice to her, and though she is only ten, Addison is no one's fool. The complimentary glass of juice after her lesson, the warm cookies, the reassuring pat on her back when she misses a key, those aren't things the other children receive after a day with Ms. Jen. But then, she assumes, none of the other children have caught their daddies kissing Ms. Jen, so really, it all makes sense._

_And she goes every week, never misses a day, even when her nose is so stuffed, nay she has Rhinorrhea-the Captain corrects- that she talks even more funny than usual and Archer laughs at her from his place far across their dining room table. She is good; she can see some of the other children who do not really care for her anyway get just a hint envious when she gets to go on stage first. She is no Beethoven or Chopin and she is not quite as good as Archer, he proudly tells her, but she is something. Elegant, maybe, as Bizzy always says she should be._

_And tonight, as she presses dry palms into her perfectly polished black dress, tiny shoes steady on the floor, she tells herself that The Captain is in the front row for her._

_Not Ms. Jen._

* * *

"What are you working on?" Sam sighs, carting their dinner to the living room after waiting ten minutes outside for her to join him. She has papers coating the floor, hanging perilously off the coffee table that is hiding her long legs, and a handful of sacredly selected ones sitting behind her on the couch cushions.

"Nothing," Addison mumbles, barely able to lift her eyes from the print in front of her.

She wants hope, she needs hope. She is getting all the ducks in a row.

"I thought the Bradleys were doing well."

"They are, really well. Resting," Addison tells him assuredly, carefully gathering her materials, delicate as though they may shatter at any moment. She places the least important at the bottom and works her way up, oblivious to Sam taking the space she is clearing out with his wine bottle and glasses and finally his body sliding down to the ground right next to hers.

She hears the dark liquid slowly fill cups; feels Sam reach across her, tastes the almost bitter hint of wood buried deep. It's heavy, full, and rich when what she needs is light, crisp. Something to clear her head of the baby blankets and cribs and midnight lullabies that are spinning cobwebs in the corners of her mind.

"To us," Sam toasts, simultaneously reaching for a pair of chopsticks.

"To us," Addison says softly, swept away in a sea of lavender and strollers, bibs and bottles. She looks around the room, letting her glass to a rest with a clink, trying to imagine what a child might look like in here, in this night, with them.

* * *

"Do we keep Violet?" Addison asks, mulling over the decision, sipping hot tea the following week. The practice has been in transition, it's not easy, but she is trying to let that impact very little of her day-to-day, at least in front of "her" employees.

"She's at home, not dead," Sam answers, keeping "unlike Pete" to himself. Physically, the practice has basically been himself, and Cooper. Charlotte has had a big week at the hospital, and Addison is busy. Always busy with something. He feels like he cannot catch her for more than a second to connect.

At home she is secretive and squirreling things away. Things, he assumes, she believes he doesn't want to talk about- a baby, or rather, the baby. Each day that passes, each lunch she skips with him he gets a glimpse. It's going to happen with or without him, and the outside looking in thing isn't all it was cracked up to be. It changed everything within.

"She's not making any money- she has no license."

"We have Sheldon for now, he can fill in-"

"That's a lot of people to shrink, Sam."

"Well, what about Pete then?" Sam challenges, because honestly, he is looking for a bit of a fight out of her, and Pete's always a touchy topic with them.

"He had a heart attack, Sam. It's not the same," Addison shakes her head, without looking up at him. It's hard to look at him anymore, and she wants to think it is the stress of all the newness floating through the hallways. Fresh paint, new equipment, the new office plant in the left corner of her office. But, if she were candid, it's hard to look at Sam knowing she has another appointment this afternoon; the kind of appointment that some boyfriends might want to attend, but not hers.

It's an odd line. Does she talk about the insemination, or nursery colors, or colleges. Can she ask for advice, will he wake up at night with the baby, will he even stick around that long. There are too many questions and not enough hours in her day.

"What are we going to do with Naomi's spot?" Addison moves on, pencil held firmly between her teeth. This time tomorrow she could be working on growing another human life, it makes her antsy.

"We'll find someone," Sam says confidently, not that they necessarily need a fertility specialist, but it does make sharing patients easier.

"We need an office manager," Addison says exasperated. She is tired of staying late, thinks (hopes) she won't be able to much longer with aching feet and an incessant need to sleep.

"We need Amelia to come in on time just once this week," Sam says loudly as the youngest Shepherd passes them by with a wave.

"This is a nightmare," Addison concedes, head sinking onto the pile of paper before her, trying not to jump when Sam's hand comes to a rest between her shoulder blades.

* * *

_"This is a nightmare. Complete catastrophe," Bizzy sighs into the phone, once glancing back at Addison, and then glaring at her seven year old daughter. "The photographer is already here, we cannot reschedule this again."_

_Addison, for the most part, is hiding behind the large branches of the evergreen tree she never gets to decorate. Small hands are not for fragile things, Bizzy says. A strange man came and decorated the entire house, not the same one as the year before, or even the year before that. Naturally, she hadn't meant to flip out of the swing at school and break her wrist, (requiring the hideous cast that ruined her mother's entire season of theoretical joy and giving), but Archer is always saying she is too big of a baby so when Henry Caldwell dared her she went for it, incorrectly._

_Archer says it is cool, even signed her cast with his shaky signature (that she should save some day because he is going to be "someone"), but Addison thinks sometimes he encourages bad things, ill-timed occurrences to enrage Bizzy. She would prefer to fly under the radar, go unnoticed. When it comes to Bizzy, scrutiny is never in short supply._

_"It hurts," Addison says softly, regretting it instantly, as Bizzy attempts to strategically arrange her behind lights and ever-changing ornaments._

_"You should have thought of that beforehand," Bizzy chides, running her fingers through her daughter's unruly hair. "I thought I told Elsa to braid your hair. Archer!" She yells suddenly, stopping the young Montgomery in his tracks. "Make the Captain his drink; he should be home from the airport any minute. Where is Louise-" she trails off as she leaves to check on dinner._

_"Don't touch that Addison," Archer warns, passively walking himself toward the drink cart. "And don't sulk," he tacks on, catching a glimpse of her frown. "You know it makes Bizzy mad." He was meant for this world, nothing phases him, it all glides off his back like ice. Addison gets drenched in the frigid water._

_She watches the dazzling white lights catch on a sliver of glass in front of her face, fingertips itching to reach out again, though she knows better. "Archie," she squeaks, looking up only to find that it is now just her perched way too high and the nasally photographer setting up his equipment._

* * *

She would like to be able to talk to Sam, as a friend. But she blurred that line, tiptoed, and then dove across it. But Naomi is gone, and Violet for all her attempts is too busy, and Amelia has been unusually quiet these last few weeks. Addison has picked a doctor, been to three appointments, has shuffled through more donor profiles than she thought possible and now she is stuck. Now, she could really use a friend. Pete is too enraged, Cooper never liked her, and this is not the kind of matter Charlotte King would dare dabble in.

So Addison spends her night alone, with company in the kitchen cooking, her mind twirling, spinning. It should be easier than this. It was going to be easy. It was as simple as deciding now was the right time with Derek and then going for it. But that didn't happen and then she got a little lost and now it's probably too late to be wistful about the things that didn't happen that perhaps should have had she not been so ignorant and stubborn about the position she was in with her absent husband.

Maybe a baby wouldn't have fixed things with Derek, but they may have fixed things for her. Maybe if there was a baby there at three in the morning when she awoke to an empty bed it would have been more okay. And while she gracefully concedes that one shouldn't want to bring a child into anything less than love she thinks she could have been enough for both her and Derek. But there was never time. Twelve years and she couldn't find ten minutes.

"Out here on your own," Amelia says, sinking down onto the lounger beside her, looking back at the rest of the practice inside Sam's house, her and Sam's house now.

"You ever wish you did things differently?" Addison poses reflectively. Sam doesn't like when she goes here, she tries not to.

Amelia gives her this look as if to ask if she knows who she is talking to and Addison frowns. She was there the night Derek saved her life from the "incident", she was there when Amy graduated and though Derek doesn't know she helped Amy fill out her application for med school sent in with good lucks and letters of recommendation that would be far more valuable in this day and age if bestowed upon a young hopeful.

"It's not all bad," Amelia laughs, nodding toward the house, Sam content in his own kitchen, showing off his cooking prowess.

"You make a good point," Addison concedes. There is no one to really talk to, even though Sam would say differently, and Amelia would begrudgingly listen though completely uninterested. But there are people, which is almost more than what she had when decided to uproot from her current state of rain and rush down here.

* * *

She calls Naomi out of the blue, after another boring round with her therapist, and at her wit's end. What she wants to ask is if she regrets it, her falling out with Sam, because Addison feels destined to follow in those footsteps, and if she has to temporarily regret one more thing in life she thinks it may be the last straw. She wants to ask if she can email some of the donor profiles for a second opinion, if the doctor she chose is good enough, even if he says he is the best (even if she did just let him join her practice).

But they both feel out of her reach.

She asks how Fife is, and how Betsy is doing and how Maya likes her classes, and how big Olivia is now. And if Naomi suspects something is awry she never asks, dutifully answers the questions with warmth and funny examples and then apologizes because it is three hours later on the east coast and she promised Betsy she would braid her hair tonight for school tomorrow.

They say they will talk again soon, but as Addison hits the slightly worn red button on her phone she tastes the bitter syrup of well meant ideas and wishful thinking.

* * *

_Bizzy said they were going to go big girl shopping in the city this weekend. Just the two of them, and probably Susan, because Susan is always there. But no Archer to make fun of her too long legs and funny teeth and ugly freckles. No Captain to rush off to a work emergency, leaving them in a restaurant where her elbows could not reach the shiny tabletop and she had to speak very quietly because the adults were trying to have a conversation._

_But Bizzy never comes. Helene does, with a smile, and a hug, and a quick sorry for making her wait outside the school all alone because Driver was not supposed to pick them up when Bizzy had made plans. Helene takes her out for ice cream, asks her what she learned (to which Addison proudly displays her latest perfect science test, she is going to be a doctor like the Captain), and then they head to the Captain's office._

_"Hello Princess."_

_Addison shirks away from his grasp, says hello politely and then practically runs down the hall to work on her homework alone. Helene doesn't stay, she never does here. Archer says that the Captain doesn't like Helene, but Addison doesn't know why because she is way nicer than Elsa was. Helene doesn't ignore her, and gives her special treats, and never has to have any "adults only" talks with the Captain._

_By the time the Captain returns to his office Addison's stomach is growling with hunger, and she is finished all her homework and her Latin lesson and several pictures she copied from the many diagrams hanging on the wall. She tried to write all the letters carefully, but she can't really read the long words yet like Archer. The Captain says, "very nice," when she shows him what she has been doing but then he turns to the stack of papers on his desk, telling her that they will go home soon and to be his good girl a little while longer._

_When Addison wakes up she is home, in her darkened room, backpack resting neatly by the door, just how Bizzy taught her to leave it._

* * *

"Are you ready?" Sam asks, poking his head into Addison's office, her head buried in pink phone messages and files.

"No," she replies gruffly.

"You ok?" Sam ventures, taking a few steps inside, leaning against the couch.

"Have you seen Amelia, she won't answer my calls." Addison frowns, stops digging and turns to properly address him. She sighs when she sees him, coat already on, briefcase dangling from his fingers. God, she wants to leave. Run away from this place. It wasn't supposed to be this difficult, saving them. It shouldn't cost her every waking hour and every ounce of sanity she has to spare.

"I thought you went to talk to her this morning," Sam says, at least that's what she said when she slithered out of their bed early this morning.

"She wasn't there. I thought she was on call, but Charlotte said she hasn't seen her in days. She's been off the surgical rotation for a week. I'm getting worried."

He would ask why, but he knows, he just doesn't want to deal with this anymore. It's always something in the practice, so he crosses the room to her, takes a seat on the edge of her desk, and leans in to grab her attention. "I'm sure she's fine, Addison."

* * *

"Where are you?" Sam asks, dipping in to kiss her temple, trying to bring her back into the present out of whatever reverie she has slipped off into.

"Here," Addison says quietly, mentally calculating, once more, all of the neat papers now stacked on her desk, hidden under patient files and away from prying eyes. Her doctor seems to think there is a glimmer of possibility, she has a contingency plan.

Hope has never been her strong suit.

* * *

_"Addison!" Bizzy snaps harshly, grabbing at her jaw before she can move away. "Pay attention," she commands. "What is wrong with you?" she hisses under her breath._

_Addison looks to Archer, who despite his boyish features is somehow managing to look like he is enjoying the conversation about whatever it is the Captain and his friends are discussing at the end of the table. He's not that much older than her anyway, but no one has looked her direction all night expect Bizzy, provided she was actually interested and might have a question or comment._

_Mostly she feels sick. She asked to be excused from dinner, but Bizzy said they had been planning this visit for months and she wasn't going to have it ruined. Meaning, Addison has learned, by having to pretend to take care of her daughter in front of their guests when she would much rather Elsa just do her job._

_Elsa and the Captain make her feel funny. Sometimes she thinks she may throw up, her stomach flipping and flopping. Elsa thinks the Captain is hilarious, she must, they spend so much time laughing. Addison has never had as much fun with him as her nanny has._

_"Addison-" Bizzy presses again, seething under her wine glass._

_When they begin to clear the table, Bizzy grabs her by the arm firmly steering her toward the other side of the room, another drink already placed in her inviting fingers by Mr. George._

_"Are you ill?" Bizzy asks, waits a beat for the answer and receives nothing._

_The Captain said she shouldn't tell. That it would be their little secret. But maybe if she said it out loud her stomach might settle down. "The Captain-"_

_"What about him?" Bizzy dares her, eyebrows raised in a challenge._

_Addison tips her head, rethinking the decision. Bizzy has not been happy today. But in a strike of bravery she raises her eyes upward as Bizzy's cold hand come to a rest under her chin to pull it back up (Bizzy doesn't like when she looks at the ground and talks, it isn't polite). "The Captain was kissing Elsa...in the study. I needed help with my math and Archie was at tennis..." she trails off, the exquisite expression in her mother's face shifting dramatically._

_"Archer," Bizzy corrects offhandedly. She does not appreciate nicknames. If she wanted Archer's name to be Archie she would have named him that. Guests often try to call her Addie after a few days on the estate, to which she answers, "My name is Addison." and then everyone shares a laugh and she is ushered from the room to work on her French lessons or anything that won't interrupt their evening. "What did I tell you about lying Addison?"_

_"I'm not," Addison argues, feeling sicker. Maybe she should have just said yes, she was not well._

_"Go to your room," Bizzy instructs and has turned around before she can protest the punishment._

_She never sees Elsa again. Archer holds her hand for a few minutes while she cries because she made another nanny run away, the third. It is always her fault, Bizzy says she is too difficult. And she liked Elsa, mostly. Bizzy doesn't speak to anyone for days except to yell about dirty windowsills and empty vases._

_"You hurt your mother's feelings, Kitten," The Captain admonishes later in the week, forced to watch her at his office. He wants her to think about what she's done while he grades papers._

_Archer tells her it isn't important. He's smart. He's older. Bizzy is never mad at him. Helene is introduced to them the following day, and Addison promises Bizzy she will be on her best behavior._

* * *

"Hello-" Addison says as she answers her phone, voice far too awake for the late state of the evening.

"Montgomery, I need you here, now."

It's Charlotte. Which means it's the hospital. Which means surgery, with any luck. Anything to get her mind off the failed IVF, her failing relationship, her lackluster life.

"It's Amelia."

Addison shakily hangs up before she can ask any questions, partly because she knows what's happening, and partly because she's not sure she can swallow the answers.

"Baby, who is it?" Sam mumbles, rolling over in his sleep, hand slipping off her silk pajamas.

"Charlotte."

"You're not on call tonight," he argues, half-awake. She's been dodgy lately, going in early, tiptoeing around conversations that frankly he has no interest in participating in either.

"I know," Addison replies, wanting to keep the bits of truth she has secured in her palm. She thinks she'd be better equipped to deal with what is going to occur without him at her side, constantly pressing her to break down, but in an ode to the life, the relationships she is attempting to build in this city she gives in. "Amelia," she swallows. "Sam-"

He scrubs the sleep off his face roughly, exhausted already from this nonsense. "What did she do this time?"

* * *

"It was just an accident," Amelia spouts, rolling her eyes at everyone in the room. "The guy ran a red light. Geesh, you'd think there was an emergency in here," Amelia laughs, flailing her arms around the room, IV tubing waving in the stagnant air.

"You ran the red light," Sam says, gritting his teeth, under his breath. He feels Addison's hold on his hand tighten momentarily.

"We're just happy you are alright," Addison sighs, wrapping her former sister in-law in her arms, mindful of the broken ribs, wrist, and multitude of bruises covering what skin they can see.

"Get into a fight?" Cooper asks, joining them. Charlotte hadn't had time to mention the gravity of the situation yet, not to everyone.

"Car won," Amelia grins, feeling the influence of the painkillers begin to seep in. She didn't object when they flooded her system, failed to mention while slipping in and out of consciousness that it probably wasn't the best idea.

Charlotte starts to usher everyone out of the room when Amelia nods off, but Addison refuses to budge, taking the seat next to the bed. "Can I have a word?"

"Absolutely," Addison says, studying Amelia's deeply swollen face. Out of the corner of her eye she catches Charlotte motion to the door as Sam makes himself uncomfortable in the corner of the room, unwilling to leave Addison behind alone though all he can think about is sleep. "Here is fine."

"Some of her blood work came back in-" Charlotte pauses, not for dramatics, but for a rare break of sincerity, "her blood alcohol level was almost three times higher than the legal limit."

"The other person..." Sam trails off, the question hanging in the air, a hook waiting for a fish.

"There was no other person, she ran into a streetlight half of a mile away from the bar, thankfully. Paramedics gave her whatever they could to help with the pain once they got her out and stabilized. It's a wonder she isn't dead. Your car is totaled, Addison."

"Your car," Sam repeats, looking at his girlfriend, realizing that he's driven everywhere the last few weeks. He assumed it was because Addison preferred it, not because Amelia was out having the time of her life.

"Sam," Addison squeaks, prying Amelia's hand off the bed and clasping it in her own. "You can go."

"Addie-"

"It's fine, I want to be here. I need to be here."

He kisses her dutifully before dashing out the door. He wishes he wasn't so grateful to be exiting the premises, so happy that he won't be there when Amelia comes out of her fog as to avoid yelling. Mostly he wishes Addison wanted him there, needed him the way she needs to stay put.

* * *

_"Addison," Sam broaches carefully, entering the room surrounded by a flurry of paperwork. He watches her snatch something off the desk in his office, their office, and stuff it into her palm._

_"Yes?"_

_"I brought you lunch," Sam says, certain she could smell it cooking down the hall._

_"No thanks," Addison replies, looking down at the desk emptily. There are so many things to be done before she can leave tomorrow, fly home to Connecticut to face the wrath of her upbringing._

_"You need to eat," Sam tells her as if she doesn't know, setting the tray on one corner of the desk and taking a seat on the other, twisting her in the swivel chair so he can take a look at what's become of her in the last 48 hours. He can count on both hands about how many words she has said to him since returning home._

_He's tried holding her, she pushes him away. He's tried playing with her hair, she batted his hands away. And for the last six hours he's tried leaving her alone, but nothing is coaxing what he thinks would be an appropriate response to your mother's untimely death. God knows he'd be a wreck, but Addison is cool, composed, quiet._

_He hates it._

_"I'm busy," she tells him, turning back to her phone and scrolling through what he guesses are countless emails._

_"I made your favorite-"_

_"I'm not hungry," she tells him, callously nudging the tray with her elbow until it tumbles onto the ground, soaking the rug with steaming, thick soup. Rice clings to her shoes, bare legs coated._

_She breathes freedom carefully; chunky celery and salt water._

* * *

_The Captain is upset, Bizzy is attempting to tend to him, and Addison is not sure the last time she saw them together this much. She gets shoved into a corner of the sitting room, adults slowly moving around the bar, making conversation. Archer got to leave for his summer camp exploration this morning, not being forced to endure the hot heat of the unventilated church, wedged in between Helene and Bizzy._

_Bizzy smiles at someone, glares at her daughter and then turns to order another drink. Addison remembers what she was told this morning. Bizzy bursting into the room while Helene made sure her black dress was pristine, shoes free of scuff marks._

_"We are headed to the church and then straight home. I want Addison in her room before the guests arrive. We are not to be disturbed today."_

_But somewhere along the way, Helene got lost and Addison can't see anything but pantyhose, and the sweet drips of drinks leaking onto the hardwood floors._

_"Kitten," The Captain slurs, slinging his arm around Addison and guiding her toward the middle of the floor. People stop and interrupt whatever it is that he wanted with her, and she's thankful that he's occupied, receiving calm assurances and quiet words._

_She sneaks away and up the stairs, taking a seat midway, watching people mill around the house. Helene said her parents were sad because Grandpa Montgomery went away for a little while. Archer told her not to be stupid yesterday while the adults were playing cards, that Grandpa was dead. She wanted to be sad too, but Archer was strong and he had spent far more time with him than she had._

_Instead, she watched Bizzy duteously accept sympathy. Watched her lap up the attention from her perch, peeking through the banister._

* * *

"Derek," Addison says sternly as he tries to end their conversation. "She needs you."

"She needs no one, she cares about no one. Obviously."

"Fine, I'll deal with this. Once again, Derek, you can't even be bothered by your own family," Addison tells him offhandedly, regretting it as soon as she says it. She cuts him off at the pass, not allowing him to say that this isn't even her family anymore and simply hangs up, pretending to be angry. She knew it was a long shot, knew that he wouldn't come for her.

And certainly not for Amelia.


	2. and they have escaped

A/N: It is truly shocking how long these things can take to come together when you are out of practice, but I have not forgotten, and I hope you all haven't either (though a reread was certainly warranted on my end). Enjoy-

* * *

Addison is emotionally unavailable at the moment, Sam knows this, but it doesn't stop him from pushing. He tries to get her to leave Amelia's room, tries to get her to ease up off of surgeries (the only patients she is currently helping because it doesn't require her to leave the hospital), tries to lie and say he forgot the paperwork she asked him to bring from her office. He doesn't want to share every meal with her and Amelia. He's tired of cafeteria food and the bland wallpaper.

It's been a week, and he's fearful of what will occur when Amelia is released.

"I was thinking," Sam says as he walks into the all too familiar room, straightening his silver tie, "we could have lunch today."

"Sure," Addison complies easily, waving him in from the doorway. He takes the chair next to her, playfully closes the chart she is working on, setting it next to Amelia's legs and attempts to make eye contact.

"How is she today?" he asks carefully. It's a can of worms he wants no part in, but he supports Addison and Amelia; she's not no one in their world, annoying as she may often be.

"I called Derek," Addison admits. "He says he can't come, or he won't. I don't know."

"She's a grown up Addison, she'll be alright."

"I hope so," Addison nods. Sam wasn't there the first time. The other car crash, the other almost fatality.

"She will," he reassures her, pulling her out of her seat. "Let's go have lunch."

"I-"

"Please," Sam smiles, lacing his fingers through his. He hasn't had her to himself in too long. "Thirty minutes is all I am asking for, and yes, I know you have a surgery at two."

"Ok."

* * *

_"Addie."_

_It's garbled. It's scratchy. It's paper thin._

_But it's there, rousing her from her station on the couch, curled into a painful ball, white lab coat her blanket._

_"Amy," she breathes, waking up rapidly. She pushes the girl's bangs out of her face and smiles. "Hi stranger."_

_"Hurts," Amelia swallows._

_"I know. You're ok, you're ok." Addison exhales and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Derek hasn't been in yet. She's tired of arguing with him, he's hit a wall. Carolyn left for coffee an hour ago with Kathleen and hasn't been seen since, Nancy is rounding on patients somewhere and Mark who was her companion for the last day has disappeared, presumably to chase one skirt or another._

_"I'm alive."_

_"You're alive," Addison confirms, the relief swallowing her whole._

* * *

"I'm not going, I'm not going to go. You can't make me," Amelia recites for the hundredth time, watching Addison pack her bags that she brought from home.

"You're going. You'll get better, come back-"

"You have no idea-"

"It worked the first time," Addison counters, before they can really get into it. Sam said he would drive them both. Honestly, she had no interest in him being there for this, but he insisted. "Rehab works, for you."

"You have to want it to work," Amelia spats angrily, reaching for the things in the brown leather bag that Addison painstakingly put away. She's been folding and refolding and not having the conversations she needs to be having; the usual. Amelia likes when things are awkward and difficult for other people, it is when she feels most at home.

"Look," Addison sighs, "You can do whatever you want, you're a big girl now. But," she says loudly when Amelia starts to interrupt, "there are consequences."

"Consequences," Amelia repeats, disbelieving.

"I have a practice to run," Addison gulps. The alternative is not something she has wanted to think about, no matter how many times Sam tries to press her into imagining it. "I have to do what's best-"

"You'll fire me?" Amelia challenges, sweater in hand, wrung into a fine cord of fabric.

"If you refuse treatment, yes." Sam told her to stay calm, to breathe, say what she needs and to mean it, but she just wants to slap Amelia until she sees daylight.

"I don't need treatment," Amelia refutes, slumping onto the well used hospital bed.

"You have a problem-"

"You have problems, we aren't shipping you off to some hellish paradise to detox from dead babies and failed relationships!"

"That's different-"

"Is it, really Addison? You scare away every single man you meet with your crazy. The ups, the downs, there's no wonder they go running for the hills. Sam," she pauses, narrowing her eyes, "is a loyal, and persistent, and frankly I don't know why he's still here. I don't know how he manages. How does anyone manage?"

She's greeted with the welcome click of the door latching into its position, silence engulfing her ears. It's the one sweet morsel of sanity she has been hoping for since this whole ride began. Again.

* * *

"You have ten minutes, go get your stuff," Sam orders, unlocking the car doors and glaring at Amelia. He wasn't really happy she called, and he's out of the loop on what happened between her and Addison at the hospital. He was twenty minutes late out of surgery, an unavoidable complication, and now he's ushering Amelia into Addison's house to collect her things before he begins the harrowing drive three hours north. The place, Addison selected. He dials the number, unapologetic, informing them that they will be arriving after hours and to make arrangements.

He knows Amelia wanted to call him about as much as he wants to be doing this alone. She's infuriating. He wishes she could see what she does to people, how she hurts people and own it. But she never will, because she's Amelia. A perpetual child, bound by history's secrets.

He's pacing the length of the couch impatiently when Addison's keys come to a crashing halt on the kitchen counter. She looks exhausted, says nothing, and goes straight for the doors of her living room, facing off against the stern beach air.

"Addie," he says cautiously, it sounds foreign, even to him.

"Do what you have to with her," Addison says loudly, hearing the stairs creak with Amelia's descent.

"I'll see you in the morning," he promises, dreading what will be a silent trip in the dark to relieve some of the world's tension.

* * *

_"You were supposed to watch her," Derek says furiously._

_"I was!" Addison yells back. Granted, she had taken a nap, but Amelia didn't need to be babysat like a three year old. She promised she wouldn't go anywhere, not even to the store on the corner. And Addison had just come off a intense two day shift of sick babies and sicker mothers._

_"Clearly," Derek retorts. His fist has already made contact with one of the hospital's walls, to Dr. Webber's dismay, and Addison was instructed to get him out of there. "How could you let this happen, Addison?"_

_Carolyn had said Amelia was acting weird when Addison picked her up that morning, said she hasn't quite been herself. Addison smiled and had replied that she was just being a teenager, that she could handle Amelia, and whatever boy problems she was having._

_They left it unsaid, hanging in the air._

_Now their laundry is being aired at work, in their safe place. She can't blame Derek for being angry. It's all starting to crumble around their feet, fractured concrete separating, washing away in the rains. It's hard to be the golden boy when you're world is made of rocks._

* * *

Amelia is quiet, head pressed against the cool glass, the world around them encased in a dark glow. Lights glimmer, speed by, and yet he feels like he is going nowhere. Their relationship is stressed, tenuous. Amelia is loud, and opinionated, and right more often than he would like. He imagines she's the little sister he never had, or almost had. He does want better. He wants her to make better decisions, needs her to be better at not colliding so violently with the world around her, for everyone's sake.

"Too bad it was a pole instead of a wall, huh?" she tells him when he opens the door for her almost four hours later.

He assumes she's talking about last week, not last decade.

* * *

"Sam, I gave you keys for a reason," Addison mutters as she yanks the door back, morning beginning to creep up from behind a curtain of blue waves. "Derek," she breathes, tightening her robe around her waist and running a few fingers through her hair.

"I'm here," he sighs pitifully, welcoming himself into her home, finding a place to stretch on the couch.

"You're here," Addison repeats to herself, shutting the door loudly, jarring her ex-husband out of whatever self-righteous pity party he has managed to contract on his flight down.

* * *

_"It's not your fault, you know that, right?" Mark offers obligingly, stuffing a napkin wrapped blueberry scone into his lab coat pocket and holding Addison's boring latte while she checks her pager._

_"I did everything I could."_

_"Amy," Mark corrects softly, thinking she means her patient from earlier in the morning. He pauses when she looks up at him confused. Their honest moments are few and far between, and he mostly finds her grating. She takes up too much of his guy time with Derek, and her legs are infuriatingly inviting in even the rattiest of sweats. He knew she was trouble from the get-go. "You did do everything you could."_

_"Tell Derek that," Addison retorts, stealing her coffee back, uncomfortable fingers beginning to play with the paper sleeve._

_"I have," Mark answers soundly and then leaves her to chat up the blonde nurse reading a chart a few feet away._

* * *

"So tell me," Derek sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he and Addison share morning coffee out on her deck. He tried to sleep, and was mostly unsuccessful. The waves were surprisingly loud. Her proximity to the ocean reminded him a bit of their "summer" house.

Addison looks up from her newspaper and takes a sip from her cup. Sam isn't back yet, as far as she can discern, though he may be asleep in his own bed. "She got in an accident after she left a bar," Addison says simply. There's not really any need to add extra details.

"And?" Derek asks, unimpressed with Addison's retelling. Her hair is a bit longer than the last time he saw it, and he can't quite remember when she started looking so dull. Was it Seattle and the rain that beat it out of her drop by drop or was it somewhere in New York with everything else he forgot. He resorts to his phone when she doesn't reply and is greeted by a fresh picture of Zola from his wife. He grins and closes the phone again, looking to his left.

"What?" Addison demands.

"You look tired," Derek shrugs.

"I need to get ready for work."

"I'll come with," Derek says, rejuvenated, jumping to his bare feet. "See what made you turn to the dark side."

* * *

"It's nice, I suppose," Derek admits, after getting the official tour from the local pediatrician who he found less funny than the man found himself. He waltzes into Addison's office to wait while she finishes with a patient, absorbing the pictures littering end tables and the lavender walls. Maybe they would have wound up here eventually. Offices across the hall from one another, lunches everyday, leaving work before the sun sets.

He wonders, sometimes.

"Addis-" Sam stops, smiles, and walks towards Derek. "Long time, no see," he greets.

"Yeah," Derek nods. "Addison is with a patient."

"Of course," Sam replies. He hadn't seen her yet this morning, somehow missed the extra car in her driveway on his way home.

"You should come to lunch, with us, talk some sense into her." Derek smiles to himself and settles in on the couch for a hopefully short and sparse conversation with his old friend. They discuss Meredith, and Zola, and the house that's just about finished up on a hill somewhere outside of Seattle. He asks how Naomi is doing with Maya in New York, about the practice, and learns a whole lot more than he bargained for when he began the day. And yet, none of it is about the one woman they are both eager to see.

* * *

_"You look miserable," Mark comments, watching Addison sink into her seat further. "I've got a car," he offers jokingly._

_"You have this idea...of what this day will be-" Addison smiles, wine glass glued to her hand as she watches Bizzy orchestrate from the front of the church. She could count the times she had been in here before this week on two hands._

_"Girls," Mark corrects. He doesn't fantasize about the future, about who it may or may not include. Sometimes childhood does you favors, teaches you lessons, he always says, at least to himself._

_"Addison!"_

_"Satan beckons." Mark rolls his eyes, stealing her glass she rises gracefully, smoothing the lines from her skintight blue dress._

_He wishes he didn't swirl the lingering taste of her lipstick in his mouth for a few extra seconds, her longing contagious. The bitter liquid burns as he swallows, watches his best friend fawn over someone who is doing just a good enough job looking happy. He knows the look well._

* * *

_"Addison," Sam grumbles as the mattress shifts beneath him to allow her to curl onto her side, away from him. "Where have you been?"_

_"Hospital," Addison answers shallowly, truthfully. She was there. Briefly._

_Sam sighs. She can hear him. He always sighs now. And for a second she wants to let him in on her secret, watch him suck that smug air right back in when his lungs screech for help. She imagines it might feel good to be on a level playing field for once in their muddled relationship._

_Sam's hand comes to a rest on the small of her back before looping around, his breath hot on the back of her neck. Sometimes he's the right amount of pressure. This morning, in the light slithering through the wooden slats coating her with a warmth she didn't seek out, he's wholly suffocating._

_"Bizzy's dead," she whispers._

_He jolts upwards, staring at her, imploring a explanation, demanding a reason for his world always getting knocked off its axis._

_She doesn't give one. She tightens the fists she's made around the ends of her tan coat, sinks into the pillow, eyes fixed on the jittery grain of his bedside table, and figures she should soak in whatever silence she can before the hurricane._

_She feels the heavy necklace in her pocket shift, an innocent victim._

* * *

"So...you and Sam?" Derek asks after Sam excuses himself from the table to take a call from St. Ambrose, that place he'd like to see. Addison looks up from her salad quizzically, she's mostly stirring the dry leaves around her plate in a counter-clockwise motion. "Oh please, I'm not blind."

"Fine," Addison concedes to the conversation she never wanted to have. "Sam and I-"

"What about Naomi?" Derek accuses, feeling warmth rush to his cheeks, a hand running through his coiffed hair.

"Naomi-"

"God Addison, you had to get all of-"

"It's not like that," Addison argues. It doesn't feel that way, except on the bad nights. The nights she escapes to the lounger, wine, the waves pounding acceptance into her heart.

"There are other men in the world-"

"None of your business," Addison summarily informs him, returning to her salad, her iced tea. "It's absolutely none of your business, Derek."

"What's not his business?" Sam asks, slipping back into his chair, Derek cringing when he sees Sam's arm slip to the right a few inches, hand undoubtedly resting on her thigh.

"Nothing," Addison dismisses. "I should get back to the hospital, I have a patient. Sam can you give Derek a ride back?"

"Sure."

Sam smiles, Derek notices. He's looking for things now. It's a habit, the way she lingers, the way the corners of her lips curl in appreciation, the way she looks back at them after she's several feet away. He shakes his head and brings his glass to his mouth while Sam finishes eating, oblivious.

It might be for the best.

* * *

"Med school?" Derek asks that evening, cartons of food spread out across her counter, the rain making it impossible to feast outside on her porch. He's had some time to think. About eight hours since Addison was avoiding coming home. He had to hitch a ride with her...boyfriend.

"What?" Addison asks, sucking down her fourth glass of water. It wasn't the best evening, she needs something to do with her hands.

"You and Sam," Derek nods. "You've always been close."

"Seriously, stop," Addison instructs. She didn't have close calls with three patients to come home and have the same fight she's been having for the last twenty years of her life. He loses some of the light in his eyes, throws himself onto her couch, already reaching for the remote.

He fits, here. He's far more comfortable than she'd like. Amelia's out for heaven knows how long, she won't take any calls. Addison's minds quickly connects dots, spins through the spider's web of possibilities.

"He's not," Derek starts, motioning at the space between them. "He doesn't stay here, right?"

Addison smiles for a second, dangles what little power she's had over him in years in the damp night air. "Would that bother you?"

"No," Derek shrugs. It shouldn't, anyway. He's not sure if it will.

"Good."

* * *

_It wasn't exactly that she had wanted to make Bizzy this Mother's Day card, but when she finished putting the glittery touches on Helene's card her teacher told her it wasn't acceptable, as pretty as it was. Archer is off at his tennis lesson, and there's mysteriously no one else to be seen in the usually hectic foyer of the estate._

_Addison can't recall if Bizzy has ever greeted her at the door upon her arrival from school, and it can't mean anything good. She shoves a chilled hand into her plain navy backpack anyway, thinking perhaps this is a non-consequential turn of events. The thick paper feels rough against her palm and she hesitates when Bizzy looks at her confused._

_"I made this," Addison says with a frown. Bizzy has never taken an interest in any science project, art, or perfect report card to date. Though, the time with the B+ was traumatizing. It has to be perfect or she shouldn't be wasting everyone's time with it, Bizzy says._

_Without opening the card adorned with sloppy, halfhearted flowers, Bizzy remarks, "That's nice, Dear."_

_Ten minutes later, Addison is having her hair ripped from her scalp as Bizzy's hairdresser fashions something acceptable for The Captain's big retirement party._

_On Mother's Day the following Sunday, Addison hesitantly presents Helene with her original work. She receives a well meant smile and hug as they walk toward the stables for her obligatory weekend riding lesson. Bizzy says ladies know how to ride a horse without looking like jumping popcorn._

_She wouldn't know the day Addison can successfully canter from any other Thursday; or successfully gallop from any other Memorial Day party extravaganza. She gets the chance to show her, weeks later, but Bizzy is swept away for another important call, and Addison vows never to touch a horse again._

* * *

"I don't understand why he's still here," Sam broaches later in the week, over a stale cup of coffee at the nurse's station of St. Ambrose. It's been a long, stressful day for both of them. He's tired of Derek in the guest room, dropping his two cents into every single conversation. "Amelia isn't even in the same zip code."

"I'm not having this discussion with you, again," Addison sighs, closing the chart she was signing off on.

"Doesn't he have a job and a family?" Sam asks, pulling the pen out of his pocket.

For the last three days it has been this. Over morning scones, and crosswords they laugh. And he tries to join in, but he doesn't know the joke or he came in at the end or he never knew what they were talking about in the first place. They're in a whole other world, and Sam wonders if it was always like this. Addison and Derek, and their spectators. It's hard to remember that long ago.

"If you're really that interested in Derek's day-to-day, you should probably ask him."

* * *

"You're just in time," Derek informs Sam as he stumbles into the house, tossing his keys onto Addison's kitchen counter. "We got egg rolls this time."

"Again?" Sam asks, loosening his tie and grappling with the top button of his shirt.

"I thought you liked Chinese," Derek shrugs, opening Addison's cupboards, finding plates and glasses. He reaches into the top cupboard, finds the label he is looking for and curls his fingers around the cold bottle.

Sam scrubs his hands over his face, watching Derek pull out the wine he and Addison shared on their first official date, and excuses himself to go rinse off the day in her shower, where his razor is, and his towel, and where his clothes are waiting for him. Yet, he can't help but keep looking over his shoulder. Waiting, the nagging knot beginning to turn and twist and mold itself in the pit of his stomach. Derek Shepherd never brings good news; the repercussions linger long after he's returned to his perfect life with his perfect family.

When Sam returns, Addison is already home, conversing, eating with her ex. Sam can't help but be slightly irked by Derek, he's always had that ability, that demanding presence. So Sam does the only thing he can think of, sliding an arm around his girlfriend's waist, pressing his lips to her cheek. He greets her, watching mindfully of Derek who either doesn't notice or pretends to not notice.

"You didn't hear the good news before you ran off upstairs," Derek says sarcastically, dropping his chopsticks into an open container of grease and noddles.

"Amelia agreed to see us," Addison says with a smile. "We're going to head up there tomorrow after my morning rounds."

"Good, that's good right?" Sam asks. He doesn't know the protocol, his sister simply left. There was no talking about it, no rehabilitation, just plaguing thoughts and his mother's tears late at night to comfort him.

"Yeah," they both say at the exact same time. Their tones, their meanings couldn't be more different.

* * *

Addison couldn't wait a day later, and she knows now is not the time. Now is never the time in her life. It's kind of her theme song, but she had an inkling so she brought home the test, and snuck away when she was certain Sam was long asleep and Derek was locked in the guest room.

Two lines. One happy face. One word.

It seals her fate and she smiles, visualizes all of the worry and regret, all of the tension and unsaid words wash off her shoulders as she slips back into bed, cold toes colliding with Sam's leg.

"Baby-"

"Sorry," Addison whispers, still grinning. "Go back to sleep."

Her midnight secret meets its match when Sam rolls over and flips on the lamp next to him, an expression she can't read on his face. "What?"

He yawns and she can see this isn't going to end in the next five minutes. "Sam-"

"I want to go with you tomorrow," he says seemingly wide awake. It makes her question if he was ever really asleep to begin with. "I want to be there for you, Addison."

"You have patients,"

"I'll reschedule. You haven't spoke to Amelia since she left-"

"Neither have you," Addison refutes, but she knows it's useless. Amelia is more to her than she is to Sam. Amelia is the crazy little sister she never got. Amelia was an unwitting example of persistence and resilience that she mostly admired. Amelia was her vault, her safe, her most treasured, hidden and confidential stories lie exposed inside.

"Let me do this for you," Sam pressures, rolling onto his side to look at her. "Addison, look at me. Tell me."

"I don't need you to go, Sam. I can do this. Amelia is ready now. Amelia is...Amelia again, not that monster you drove up there and I don't need you to protect me from her." In fact, she's gotten quite good at not needing him for much of anything lately. She doesn't need someone to hold her hand during her visits with the newest member of their practice, and she didn't need help picking out a sperm donor, and she didn't need help choosing a rehab facility.

She's put distance between them, fearing the worst. She's mourning her loss of him with him, staring back at her every morning over breakfast, breaks in the practice's kitchen, in her office as they look over their separate files.

She knows what a child looks like with him in the picture, and he's just barely in the frame, skirting around commitment.

"Ok," Sam sighs, turning the light off, darkness enveloping their quiet sanctuary.

"Night." He doesn't push half as hard as she expects, and she's grateful to return to the safety of night without blurting out what she's been working so hard on for the last few months is now a reality.

* * *

"He hovers," Derek surmises on their journey north to his sister. If he thought he could reasonably drive 20 miles an hour then he would, but he's pretty sure Addison would force him out of the driver's seat. "I know, I hover. I know what it looks like."

"Shut up," Addison commands, hand pressed against the seat belt. Her sunglasses slip down her nose and she almost regrets her middle of the night freak out on Sam because at least they wouldn't be having this conversation. "I'm not talking to you about Sam. Not on the way there, not on the way back."

"He hovers," Derek says, purses his lips, and then turns the music up again. "It's not a bad plan," he offers as they creep down the road.

* * *

_"She's alright now Derek, she wouldn't have called if she wasn't."_

_Mark ditched them at the last minute for an opportunity to operate with his mentor, a man he too closely resembles, if you ask Addison, and the air in the rental car is thick with Derek's disdain and her trepidation. It took her half the week to get him to agree to even coming to visit Amy in rehab, and Amy had cried and begged and apologized so many times that Addison didn't know how her husband had managed to turn into a unmovable boulder. Addison wasn't immune to the tears that always started and ended each telephone call they shared, and she certainly wasn't used to Amy's weak voice pleading for something she couldn't have or steal from someone or somewhere._

_"I think she's ready, she's doing the work, I think this is helping. She's going to be better. Derek?"_

_"Stop," he instructs in a whisper, eyes glued to the icy road as they trek on an already unforgiving journey._

_"Derek, it's alright. Amy knows-"_

_"Stop Addison, stop." He's firmer this time. He's hit a wall. A mental barrier preventing him from reacting correctly to this monumental affair. It's the nagging feeling that this isn't the end, that's there's never going to be an end._

_She's still for a moment, a beat, eyes drifting toward the snow that is trying to fall. The rental smells like a new car, and they need one, but Derek refuses to go looking with her, and she refuses to just buy him a car that he would certainly hate. He'd rather drive a cardboard box than anything she's suggested lately. "Kathleen said we shouldn't necessarily be gentle with her, we need to be honest-"_

_"Shut up, Addison, stop!" Derek commands. He takes a glance at her, catches the way her eyes begin to glisten and moves his hand to her thigh in a cease fire. He needs a break, a second to catch his breath, to wrap his mind around the fact that his baby sister (admittedly always a bit of a handful, but usually in a lovable way) tried to kill herself, or actually killed herself, with or without intent via his car, his signature._

_It was never the way he wanted with Amy. She was never still, never calm, never content. She was a hurricane. It's impossible to stop her path of destruction, to protect her from herself, so he blames Addison._

_"I shouldn't have taken that shift," he says spitefully. As if he could have stopped her from leaving, as if he could have hidden his keys well enough. As if he could have saved her._

_The silence begins with the snow, ends with Addison slamming the car door._

* * *

_"Why do I have to be here again?" Archer moans, looking through old tennis trophies that have been placed by his hands haphazardly into a box labeled "Study" in Addison's sloppy handwriting._

_"Archer," Addison begins, but it is futile. She's going to get more done without him here. She should have just let the moving crew handle all of the rooms in the estate but she thought it might be nice to remove some items herself, in case. "He's our father."_

_"Ha," Archer laughs, reaching over to the drink cart to fill his glass. "Some Dad."_

_"Where do you have to be? Japan? France?"_

_"Belgium, as a matter of fact, I was supposed to be there three days ago. My publicist is growing impatient with not being able to parade around my brilliance for the world to see." He swirls the vodka in his glass, ignores the smoothness, the clean feeling it leaves in his mouth._

_"Just go, honestly, you're useless anyway."_

_"Oh, baby sister," Archer teases, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her away from the endless pile of books that litter the shelves. She's sorted and resorted and resorted. He's watched every bound page switch stacks at least three times. "Don't get angry."_

_"I'm not angry," Addison tells him matter-of-factly. She's disappointed, she should have known better than to think this would be something that could draw them closer together as a family, she's alone, she's lost, she's mortified. But she's not angry._

_"This is you, not angry," Archer tells her, sinking into the deliciously chilled chair to his right. "I can see the glaring from here."_

_"I can finish this," Addison tells him, taking his glass, and setting it on the tray before leaving the room. She wasn't planning on getting a goodbye out of him anyway, he comes and goes as he pleases. She simply wishes it would stop hurting already, not being enough._

_It never does._

* * *

"I didn't want him here," Amelia gestures in Derek's direction. "God Addison, can't you follow simple instructions?"

"He's your brother, he's your family Amelia."

"He's condescending, judgmental, and impetuous. I don't need this right now Addie, I am trying to do what you asked me to do here. You are my family, I wanted you."

"I'm here," Addison reiterates, pointing at herself. The room is well lit, and oddly empty, but she is thinking they should still take this outside before it gets out of hand.

"Why is he even in town? Did you call him? Did you call my mother?" Amelia paces nervously across the spot in front of the fireplace. It's off but she can still feel the heat emanating from within. It is seeping, crawling over her face.

"I called Derek," Addison admits, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, heels bobbing off her feet. "I didn't call your mother, or Nancy, or anyone else. Promise."

"It was just a slip Addison! I slipped, one time. You've done it, we've all done it!"

"Amelia-"

"Why are you punishing me?"

"I'm trying to help you."

"By locking me up with these crazy people? Have you ever done a stint in rehab Addison? I can't talk about my feelings anymore to these strangers or I am going to need more pills coming out of here than I was doing before I went in."

"Talk to me, talk to Derek," Addison suggests, waving him over, fingers colliding with her hair. Derek sits next to her, too close, but he's nervous, she can tell, almost more than the last time they did this. He ran then, she's hoping he doesn't do the same again this time.

"Amy," Derek greets, inhaling sharply before reclining and swallowing heavily. In this moment he can't recall why he ever boarded that plane.

"You need to get better," Addison tells her. "I love you Amelia, but I won't watch you kill yourself and I won't standby while you destroy everything you've built since...then. You have a gift Amelia, you have a responsibility to your patients, and you are going to kill yourself if you keep going like this."

"Is that what you tell yourself Addison? Does it help? How does that make you feel?" Amelia spouts.

"Sit down and talk to us like humans and not some caged animal at the zoo, or we are leaving," Derek tells his sister, watching as she slides across them and finds respite in her clenched hands. "We all want the best for you Amy, and you know that."

"I slipped," Amelia tells him softly, wringing her knuckles against each other.

"I'd hate to see what a fall looks like then," Derek corrects harshly, taking an elbow to his side from Addison.

Addison's mind spins off elsewhere while they pick up steam again. Derek's voice is rising, she elbows him again and he settles. She can see herself, in this room, watching from above, like a movie. She can feel Derek's leg bouncing against hers, his almost never present nerves beginning to make an appearance. Amelia looks like she is stalking her prey, pacing the full length of the room, unable to bear Derek's unwavering scrutiny.

Eventually, her legs carry her upwards and slowly out of the room, toward the parking lot. Addison can hear her name being called loudly at first and then quietly and then not at all. She's escaped. She finds a tree to lean against and descends into the dewy grass, head in hands. The urge to vomit passes swiftly and she knows it not to be the cause of her unborn child but rather the impasse they have reached inside.

It would be easiest to cut her losses, turn and run. But it's counter-intuitive. She stays for the ones who will never repay her, for those who need it the most. It's punishing, and brutal. But thankless, mostly thankless. Archer never asks for forgiveness, Derek never thought he was in the wrong, Sam can't possibly sink to her level, The Captain found it to be a contractual bloodline agreement that his indiscretions be kept private.

Derek finds her an immeasurable amount of time later, and tells her simply to get in the car, that they're leaving.

As he whisks her from the scene, her head falls back against the seat, her hand creeps across the seat belt once more, longing.


End file.
